Coffee
by roomsbythesea
Summary: She wants to return to the love she once knew, but she knows being his customer might have to be enough.
1. Four Mornings

This is the day, she decides immediately after waking. She lies in her bed feeling new, refreshed, revived. She stretches and it feels as if the stress of the past few months escape through her fingertips, back, knees. There is still dismay; clear in the form of grayness that has slowly started popping up, unwanted on her scalp. There is sadness; clear in the form of eyes that shine a little dimmer than normal. (Normal seeming like a distant memory.) Her worn body discovers new feelings of excitement and determination; a rediscovered confidence. Today is where it is going to begin.

She feels like she has been in a womb. Her eyes have a glaze that almost feels prenatal. She could blame it on the tears, but they had yet to come. She could blame it on too much sleep, but the clock on the opposite side of the bed tells her otherwise. The sun seems foreign and colors seem new. She sinks back into her bed and revels in her rebirth.

------------------------ 

Coffee. The smell was unmistakable, the addiction, undeniable, and the craving, unpredictable. Lorelai lifts her head to see over the slumbering body of Luke, reading the numbers on the clock next to the bed.

Weeks earlier he had thoughtfully suggested it be moved to his side because of his ungodly hours of waking. They had started habitually spending the night with each other after their emotional reconciliation following the Emily and Christopher fiasco. Lorelai referred to it as, (still a little hesitant of using the C-word around Luke), her "dark month". When Luke started spending more time at the Gilmore house, small changes were made. Lorelai gave him a drawer, space in the closet, made necessary adjustments to bathroom drawers, as well as the rest of the usual boyfriend-friendly behavior. But other changes were made as well. Lorelai parked her car to the side of her driveway so his truck could get in and out easily, she would leave her overhead fan on at night because she knew Luke had a tendency to get hot at night, and the alarm clock was moved to the opposite side of the bed.

The numbers glow 8:20 on this particular morning and Lorelai looks at Luke for signs of waking. He is deep asleep, and she has no intentions of waking him. It was officially the first day in months that he had taken off from work. Today they were spending the day together, like a normal couple might on a weekend or holiday. And if it weren't for the craving slowly crawling up her spine, she was sure she would have fallen back asleep as well. But she could taste it, and smell it, and feel it sliding down her throat. She wants coffee.

She carefully starts the painstakingly slow journey out of bed. Every move calculated, slowly inching herself out from under his arm. As she slides her bottom half off of the bed, Luke slightly moves in his sleep. She freezes awkwardly with her feet mere inches from the ground. When she regains confidence that he is still asleep, she slides the remainder of her body off of the bed. She tiptoes out of the room and down the stairs. She can practically smell it brewing.

Never would Lorelai be caught dead out of bed on a Saturday before nine-by choice anyway. But today, she had a certain spring in her step.

Maybe it was the slumbering prince upstairs, or maybe it was the afterglow. Maybe it was just the anticipation of the day. Maybe it was the coffee. Don't forget the coffee.

It is shiny as the sun strikes the metallic pot. She goes through the motions methodically, dumping the old grounds, filling it with water, new filter, a couple of extra scoops for good luck and posterity, and then, the rewarding 'start' button. She sits idly waiting for the pleasurable gurgling sounds signaling the process nearing completion. When the hiccups begin, she gets up, grabs a cup from the cupboard, and stands by her loyal coffee maker, willing the last bit of water to drop through the filter. As she breathes in the luscious scent, a warm smile crosses her face.

She fills her cup to the rim and makes for the front door. She steps out feeling the glow of the sun on her face. She sits down on the swing, with her legs propped up, knees to her chest, sipping her delicious reward.

It's a beautiful morning, everything peaceful. Birds chirping could only make it seem more surreal. She giggles softly as she notices Babette's gnomes positioned, once again, in a way that would surely make Luke blush. The Samson boys had been at it again. They had always spared her house from their mischievous behavior ever since she had given them two entire candy bars last Halloween. Of course no formal agreement was made, but she was pretty sure it would ensure her title as 'a cool adult'. She heard Babette was giving out boxes of raisins. Lorelai almost didn't blame the kids. She makes a mental note to let her neighbor in on her secret bargaining tool.

The rain starts to gently fall and Lorelai looks up, as if to ensure the porch still has a ceiling. The feeling that passes through her body was one of content. Well caffeine and contentedness. Her life was finally coming together, it seemed. She was in a strong relationship, Rory was happy and following her ambitions, and the Dragonfly was doing great. She thinks of Luke, up in her bed, sleeping past six. (Quite a feat for a man who has been waking before the sun for years.) They had been dating for nearly a year, and fallen into a comfortable routine. It was a comfort like the fleece inside a new sweatshirt. Everything was going great; they were happy. It is that knowledge that just makes the coffee taste better.

------------------------ 

If she could never kiss him again, touch him again, sleep beside him again, she would understand. She had to. It was his call after all. It had taken the ultimate betrayal for her to see how much she needed him. A great big catch-22. The one thing that she had to do to realize how much he meant to her, was the one thing that may keep her from ever getting him back.

If she could never hold him again, it wouldn't be from lack of trying. He deserved to know, he needed to know. If nothing else, a wise sitcom character once said, "It's always great to know someone loves you." Or something like that.

Besides, today is the first day of her life. Only if she rolled over to see Emily Gilmore smiling down proudly at her, could she feel like this was any more of the truth. As disturbing as that thought is, she feels more like herself for the first time in months. A wiser, more weathered version, yes, but new nonetheless.

They had parted amicably two weeks before. Christopher had been mature, understanding, and heartbroken. Never in a million years did she think she could ever use the words "mature" and "Christopher" in the same sentence. He had been. He didn't deserve to be loved less than he was able to love. She knew that, he knew that. He loved her. He was in love with her completely. She, however, couldn't return the sentiment to the degree he deserved. It was his love that allowed her to walk away, and for her oldest friend, she wished him happiness and the dedication he was worthy of. They had put the past into the ground. Lorelai decided that if there was time to turn around, she was going to.

------------------------ 

"Good morning sleepy head."

Luke turns his head to kiss the inside of her hand, slowly closing his eyes again. "What are you doing up?"

Lorelai smiles. She loves his soft demeanor in the morning. Of course usually she was the one who was asleep, him leaning down to kiss her before he left for the diner. All the same, it makes her unconsciously stick out her lips, regarding him as if he were a child.

She brushes his hair to the side of his face, "Just admiring my sleeping beauty."

"Aw jeez." It is such a Luke thing to say, yet the words are almost unrecognizable because of the soft, tired way the words come from his mouth.

"You can go back to sleep if you want," she coos.

"And let you just ogle me?" His smile matches hers.

"Admire," she corrects him.

His eyes open again, giving her a proper 'good morning' kiss. He licks his lips, wakening ever so more. "You've already had a cup of coffee?"

She nods, grinning, "You should have seen me sneaking out of bed. It was like Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible."

"What time is it?" He starts to sit up, but Lorelai keeps her hands firmly on his face. It doesn't take much to keep him down.

"You wouldn't believe it if I told you."

"Eight?"

She grins devilishly, shaking her head. "Nine."

"Nine?" She nods affirmatively. He lays his head back down on the pillow, sighing, relaxed. "I haven't sleep this long in years."

She watches him lovingly, "Well it was about time then."

"I guess so."

------------------------ 

It had taken her two weeks. For two weeks, she had been trying to build herself up for what was sure to be a complete and utter rejection. Her plan had been simple. To try and win him back; to do everything in her power to be with him again. She would start by regaining his friendship and try to start again. It had taken one small memory to convince her otherwise.

It had been a morning like any other, or so it seemed. He had woken her up as he was leaving for the diner. He kissed her and wished her a good day. She had closed her eyes, drifting back off to sleep, assuming he had started to make his way to work. It was a few minutes later when she heard him shift. Slowly she had opened her eyes and saw him looking down at her. She had smiled up at him and he had given her a small grin in return. He had knelt beside her and smoothed her hair. She had gently muttered that she had thought he had gone to work. His expression turned serious, and her stomach had flipped suddenly. "I love you", he said. She shyly smiled at him and he kissed her forehead lingering. She had been silent. "I will always love you. We can never been just friends again, you know that right? You, Lorelai Gilmore, are my sweetest downfall." His lips had tickled her forehead and before she could pull him down to her, he had turned and walked out of the door.

This lovely moment had scarred her soul. It had saddened her, those sweet words that she could never return. It had been the first time he declared his feelings so vocally, and she had been unable to return the sentiment. She knew now, that he had always been afraid of losing her. He had always been afraid. He had given her the power to break his heart. She feared she had never been as completely vulnerable in their love.

Her goal had since evolved. She lowered her expectations and ultimately decided that she could no longer be selfish with her love. With all that had happened in past few months, he deserved no less than her honesty. There would be no more games. She would lay it all on the table, and make it clear to him that she expects nothing in return. Vulnerability. Her heart would now be his.

She approaches the town square confidently. It is early. Earlier than anyone would expect to see Lorelai Gilmore walking around. The diner has barely opened and the one patron, Kirk, sits sipping something from a mug and, from her view from across the square, seems to be engaging Luke in a conversation that will surely leave him scratching his head and/or restraining himself behind the counter.

Her purpose is clear in her mind. Her expectations: none. If he says nothing, she will understand. She expects as much.

She approaches and, as if he can hear her, he lifts his head immediately. Through the window, he looks at her a little surprised, and she gives him a sincere smile and lifts her hand in a small wave. He immediately returns her smile, albeit smaller, and she recognizes it as uncomfortable. There's no doubt to either of them that today's the day she's finally returning to the diner. It had been six months. He can see the determination on her face, and she has yet to waver from her path.

When she steps inside the diner, she is nearly toppled over by the force in which Kirk hugs her.

"You're back! We've missed you Lorelai. I kept telling everyone you'd be back, and here you are." He steps back giving her time to recover, "Taylor owes me money. He was going to take you off the town council membership list and I said, 'Taylor, Lorelai will be back. I'd put money on it.' He said, that you could stay on the list if I paid your membership dues until you come back to pay your own dues."

"I never left Star's Hollow, Kirk."

He starts to protest, and Lorelai sees the shovel she's digging with and changes the subject quickly, "Wait. I'm in the town council?"

"Any and all citizens of Stars Hollow that have frequented town meetings for over ten years were inducted last month." He beams proudly, tugging at his pants like an old man regarding his family. If he were wearing suspenders, Lorelai is sure he would snap them against his chest. "It was my idea. I think Taylor's starting to consider me his right hand man. Though, he is left-handed. I've been toying around with 'left-hand man' but it doesn't have the same ring to it."

Lorelai smiles sincerely. She had missed this town. "Good for you Kirk."

"So as the 'left-hand man', I'll take cash or a check. I'll need you to write your phone number on the check though, in case it bounces."

"What?"

"For your backed fees." He pulls out a pad from seemingly nowhere and begins to scribble, "You owe roughly six hundred, seventy four dollars and thirty-six cents."

She's taken aback, "What?"

"We can round it up to seven hundred. No harm, no foul."

"Kirk! Seven hundred dollars in membership fees?" she's understandably baffled.

"Well I forgot to mention interest. It's the price you pay for your betrayal to this town," he adds authoritatively.

She narrows her lips and breathes deeply, reaching into her purse.

"A check probably makes the most sense in this case," Kirk chides.

She has nearly forgotten her original purpose until Luke's voice breaks through the silence. "Leave her alone Kirk," he turns towards Lorelai, "Don't give him any money."

"Now Luke, I know that you are bitter you weren't asked to be on the town council but you can not interfere with this process," Kirk says, sounding more and more like Taylor everyday.

Luke gives him a stern look that causes Kirk to tuck his tail between his legs. He leans towards Lorelai, "We'll do this later, I guess. Good to have you back Lorelai. " He gives Luke a quick glance and returns to his table, sulking.

Her confidence has wavered in the few minutes she has been standing in this spot. All the talk about her abandonment of the town had put her off course. She considers asking for a coffee to-go and leaving the diner in shame. She probably would if it weren't for the fact that Luke has taken the initiative to pour her coffee in a ceramic cup and sit it on the counter in front of a stool. She takes this as a sign she's doing the right thing.

As if she needed further proof of the importance of this day, her legs begin to feel a little shaky. She starts to feel subconscious standing still in her spot in the diner. She has to take a step forward. The coffee gesture makes her want to cry, and she probably would, but she can't. Part of the plan is no tears, no sympathy. To tell him the cold, hard facts, being completely honest. She stares at the cup and looks up to Luke, who has since turned his back to her and is shuffling through receipts.

A deep breath clears her head, and she approaches the counter. She sits on the stool in which Luke had designated her to sit. It's not her cup and it's not the stool she had once tried to write her name on. The seat is one over, and so close that she wonders if Luke had simply forgotten.

As she sits he turns towards her, "So," he takes a deep breath, "It's been a while."

She nods, "It's good to see you."

He gives her a once over, "You too." This was all too civil for her liking.

She continues the small talk, "How have you been?"

The sincerity of his voice makes her realize how Chris must of felt, "Good. I've been good."

She covers up her disappointment? She scolds herself internally and responds quickly, "Good yeah, good."

"Well, congratulations."

She looks at him surprised.

"I'm happy for you. I really am."

"But-"

"It's okay Lorelai. I know why you're here."

"But-" she tries again.

"Look, it's okay. You don't have to break it to me. We don't have to dance around it. You're engaged. I heard and I'm happy for you. Congratulations." He's telling the truth, she can tell. He is sincere and she wants to cry again.

His hand is warm on hers for a split second as he pats it in a friendly manner. She wonders why he hasn't even glanced at her finger. Her empty finger. She wills him to look down, but he has turned around yet again. When have all the men in her life become so mature? She hasn't touched her coffee and it's getting cold. She realizes she's lost her nerve.

Her voice is shaky, "Thanks. Thank you," she finally replies to his back. He turns around and nods to her smiling, returning to his task at hand just as quickly. She sits in silence and doesn't hear as Kirk approaches her. He hands her a business card. She looks at it questioningly.

"You may be interested in my services," he explains nodding to her empty finger.

Luke turns around to Kirk, "No solicitors Kirk," he punctuates this by pointing to the sign on the door.

"Sorry Luke," he shrugs innocently, Luke turns back around sighing. Kirk leans in Lorelai conspiratorially, "You can pass that along. You'll need a ring to seal that deal," he finishes with a wink.

Luke whips back around looking menacingly towards Kirk. In fear that he might jump the counter to throttle Kirk, Lorelai raises her hand to stop Luke.

"It's okay. I'm not in need of his services. Thanks but no thanks, Kirk."

"Ah-ha!" Kirk points to Lorelai knowingly, "I knew it! You aren't engaged anymore!"

This isn't how it was supposed to go. "No, no I'm not." She looks at Luke for some sign of understanding, but all she sees from him is pity.

"Oh. Geez, all that talk," he shakes his head, "I'm sorry."

Once again he's sincere and she has to get out of here. She knew going in that she couldn't expect anything, but the sting of his indifference to first her engagement, and now, the cancellation of her engagement, cuts her unexpectedly deep. She shouldn't have come. She opens her mouth to give him a litany of lame excuses to leave, but stops short. His words echo through her head. He deserves to know.

------------------------ 

"I love you," his voice is still scratchy with sleep. He stares into her eyes meaningfully as they slowly begin to open. She smiles at him sleepily.

"Good morning," he softly continues.

She runs her hand down his face and grins at him. She leans her head up to meet his and kisses him softly. He takes his hand up to her cheek and runs his thumb along her cheekbone. She responds tearfully, "I love you."

------------------------ 

"What?"

It looks like someone had knocked his feet from under him. He leans on the counter.

"I love you," she repeats. He opens his mouth, but she raises her hand to silence him.

"Please don't say anything. I know it's crazy. I know I'm crazy. I know I'm poison. I'm damaged goods. I don't want you to say anything. I just thought you should know. You were never just the guy who poured my coffee, and you probably never will be. You're my Ava Gardner," she smiles sadly and realizes she's crying, and quickly brings her hand up to her face, "And god, I promised myself I wasn't going to cry. God, I'm sorry." She wipes her tears away. "But god Luke, if you pouring my coffee is all you can be to me, then I want that. I don't deserve anything from you, I know that," she adds quickly. "I heard that it's always nice to know someone loves you", she adds lamely, and she thinks he gives her a small smile, but can't know for sure because her vision is a little blurry and her mind is racing through all the things she wants to say to him.

She takes a deep breath, gathering courage. "So in a couple of days, if it's okay with you, I'm going to come in for breakfast," she cuts herself off suddenly, "With less tears I promise," she tries to smile, but it's fruitless and she continues, "But I had to tell you. You deserve to know that this customer loves you and will always love you, and that my intentions are not all that honorable. I don't want to be just your customer but I'll take what I can get. And if you'll pour my coffee, I'd be honored to know that I haven't lost you completely with all that has happened," Thinking of her words, she adds embarrassed, "And with this completely inappropriate confession."

With a finality that assures him she's finished, she asks, "So is that okay?"

He nods before he realizes he is and says, "Okay," because what else can he say?

She's out of the door before he realizes there's money lying on the counter. The only thing that remains is this dull ache in his chest that resembles pity.

"At least she paid _you_."

And Kirk.


	2. Vulnerable

It is yet another morning and her eyes fight the impulse to open. The dripping facet, the ticking clock, both slowly beating predictable rhythms so quiet, they're lost each time she shifts in her bed, only, and always, to return after another moment of stillness. She can hear the far off sounds of a rumbling machine from blocks away, and the slightly open window allows the breeze to gently push the curtains towards her, only to inhale them back through the small opening. A billowing cloth, the wind fighting for a lost cause. Releasing them in defeat once the curtain rod makes its presence known. Stillness returning. _ Drip, drip. Tick, tick._

Blush rises to her cheeks, warm and invited. A small, self-depreciating snicker is released from her lips, breaking the silence. Her hands come up from under the sheets to cover her face. She digs her nails a little too hard into her forehead, surely leaving a mark. Her mind, stuck in repeat of their meeting the morning before. Each time with her sinking further and further into the bed.

Oh, how she wishes for the shade of nighttime. The light of morning is so unforgiving. God, had she actually _cried_? She groans and hides underneath the sheets once again. _Tick, tick. _

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She shakes in her nervousness, or maybe arousal. He looks over her for the first time. She feels naked, which isn't at all surprising she figures. She is. And now, he really is looking at her like a porterhouse steak.

There is some sort of power that comes with wearing clothes. A power to tease and taunt with as much, or as little, as you wish. A power in which you can make another person only wonder what's behind the fabric. Leaving them wanting more and hoping to be part of their fantasies.

This was a power she was all too much accustomed to with this man. A power that was now gone from her arsenal. For years, she held the secrets that she knew he wanted her to whisper in his ear. She could see it on his face when he thought she wasn't looking, as she leaned over the counter or as she jaunted away towards the door, swaying her hips slightly. His reflection in the glass, watching her go. She'd smile to herself, taunting him with her power.

Now, here she is, and he has kryptonited her right out of her clothes. It hadn't taken much, she realizes in hindsight. From the moment he made his intentions known, she started listing the inventory of "he's going to see me naked for the first time" items. Legs shaved. Armpits. Lotion. Toenails. Eyebrows. (In)Appropriate underwear.

She sees the adoration in his face and forgets to be embarrassed. There's nothing left to the imagination now and she's powerless as he touches her for the first time. It is beautiful, as it always is. Completely removing the barriers of modesty, even if only literally. Looking and exploring each other's secrets; the moans and giggles giving up more and more of themselves in every moment of intimacy. Making faces that she's sure she'll regret, even though she never does. She'd always been good at this part. She closes her eyes at her most vulnerable, and he doesn't hear her whimper.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She makes it to the kitchen in a desperate attempt to try and shut the movie off in her head. The one where the heroine makes a complete fool of herself and as she walks out of the scene, the room laughs and the new love reveals herself, cuddling close to the man the woman so foolishly lost.

She feels embarrassed. She remembers his face, watching her in pity as she poured her heart out, crying all over herself. And all of this with Kirk as the witness, she recalls, groaning once more.

She thinks that this isn't how she's supposed to feel after her great confession the day before. It was supposed to be liberating: finally handing over her heart. The weight was supposed to lift. The truth is out; she's no longer hiding. She is supposed to feel justified and confident. She's knows she supposed to be scared, but she's never felt so naked before in her life. Replaying his pitiful looks. Like she's helpless. Like she's lost it. She thinks that maybe this feeling, this vulnerability that she feels, is why she'd been so hesitant to give anyone this power before.

It's hard to say the feeling is regret. No. Regret is a word that Lorelai would much rather use sparingly. For all her shortcomings, it would probably start to lose meaning. Besides, she had concluded earlier in the morning, that no matter what the outcome, she would do it again in a heartbeat. Tell him that he was wrong, that it's always been him. In that, she feels a small amount of pride. The tears, however, she could have done without.

She realizes sadly, and with a small start, why her confession has left her feeling a little stilted. This was a vulnerability she was very inexperienced with.

She has to go to the diner eventually. This is the one thing she knows. She had told him she would. She would. Just not today. A relationship built on pity is not what she needs right now.

As she walks outside, her heart sinks a little seeing her empty porch. It isn't as if she had expected him there, except she did. She holds her head high and shakes down her sadness. Just work as usual.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rory sits patiently in her car seat. Her tiny fists rub her eyes and the yawn that follows, sends Lorelai on her own search for oxygen. She takes a deep breath and places a small kiss on her daughter's forehead. Rory giggles and Lorelai smiles. It doesn't quite reach her eyes, but she's out of the car before her daughter can notice. She hopes.

"Well Miss Gilmore, I've looked over everything and it looks good. I have a few other applicants, but," Mia pauses and eyes Lorelai nervously. She considers this young girl. There's fear in her eyes and she looks much too young to be a maid. Her well manicured hands drumming nervously on her thigh. "Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

Lorelai sits a little straighter in her chair and mentally prepares herself. "Not at all," she replies and she wants to mean it.

"Are you in some sort of trouble?"

Lorelai breathes out slowly, "No, not trouble. Just looking to start fresh somewhere."

Mia eyes her wearily, still perplexed, "Are you running from something? Someone?"

Lorelai shakes her head again, "No."

Mia laughs nervously, biting the impulse to dig further into this young girl's life. She looks over her small resume once more. "So, you're from Hartford?'

"Yes. Well my parents live there."

"And what brings you to Stars Hollow?"

How does she begin to explain why she's here? Starting over, starting anew. Leaving the high and proper Gilmore world with her two-year-old daughter, hoping to give her more than she had. It's not the best plan, but it's something. She needs this job.

"This job," she replies simply and Mia gives her a once over. She looks at her resume again, trying to put the pieces together, when finally her small-town snoop ability comes into play. She lowers her glasses on her nose and asks slowly, hoping not to offend, "Do you have any children?"

Lorelai is startled and looks down briefly before returning her eyes to Mia, ashamed.

"A little girl. Her name's Rory."

"Aww, a little girl!" Mia exclaims excitedly, a complete 180 from her soft tone moments earlier. Off of Lorelai's startled reaction, Mia continues softer, "Little girls are amazing little things. How old is she?"

Lorelai mentally prepares herself and with a look of shame, tells Mia, "Two." She watches as Mia does the calculations in her head, as so many often do.

Mia watches her as she looks back into her lap. "It's nothing to be ashamed of dear."

As Mia reaches out and gently touches her hand, Lorelai feels herself quivering. She wants to blame it on hormones, or the fact that she didn't have a single drop of coffee this morning, but she knows what it is. To hear those words, _nothing to be ashamed of_. That's what catches her throat and makes the tears well up. To hear those words, for quite possibly the first time in her life. It's the mere fact, she realizes, that until this moment, no one has ever been quite so understanding about her situation. That's what makes the tears come. She fights it, and tries to keep her mask of fearlessness on, but Mia senses her apprehension and squeezes gently.

"You left your parents?"

Lorelai nods.

"With your daughter?"

She nods again, quickly wiping her eyes.

"And you need a job."

Lorelai breathes in deeply, regaining her composure. "Yes ma'am."

Mia looks her over again and reaches beside her and hands the young woman a tissue.

"So where is she?"

Lorelai sniffles and wipes her eyes once more. "In the car."

"By herself?" Mia asks puzzled.

Lorelai nods and Mia's on her feet. She grabs Lorelai's hands gently and gives her a look over. This strong young woman is fragile and scared. Condemning her decision to leave her child in the car alone does not seem to be a good option. She herself is still a child, she reasons, and probably just doesn't know any better.

"Can I meet her?'

"Of course."

When they get to the car, Mia watches the two interact. Her daughter claps and squeals when she sees her mother coming towards the car. Lorelai lights up when she lifts her from her car seat and kisses her gently on the forehead, turning her towards Mia proudly.

Mia smiles. Maybe it's the fact her own son had just left for college, or maybe because she wants to keep on eye on these two girls, but later that day, she offers Lorelai the job, and more importantly, a place for them to live.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At the end of the day Lorelai goes home and collapses on her couch. Between the emotional turmoil and getting back to her daily life, she finds herself spent much earlier in the evening that usual.

Naturally she thinks of coffee, which reminds her of her impending visit. The words that filter through her brain make her irritable at her own cluelessness of what to do or say next. She had been so nervous about going there in the first place, proclaiming her love and just asking for him to serve her coffee again, she forgot to plan for after that. In a small way, she guesses, she hoped that he would take her back right then and there. Tell her that he loves her too. Never stopped. Rationally, she knew that wasn't going to happen, and didn't expect it to. But it would have been nice. Now what?

Now she's the costumer, she chides herself. Just as she promised.

Her instinct is to avoid the diner until her pride is healed. To stay away until there's a possibility that he has had time to mend as well.

But she wants to see him, and can't avoid the nagging in her heart, of just wanting to hear his voice. Even if it's just him asking, "For here, or to go?"

Tomorrow morning she decides. A quick cup to go.

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Riding in his truck, his mind is on everything but the road. He hopes that a police officer pulls him over so he can unleash his anger and not feel like a complete fool. Yelling over a speeding ticket would be a great release and one that his pride would allow. He hits the steering wheel and with his feet, angrily adjusts his floor mat at a stop sign he barely sees. He fights the urge to cry. He fights the urge of imagining them together. He fights the urge to admit his heart is broken.

At one point, months ago, days ago, he held her on his arm proudly. He knew he was the envy of any red-blooded male that saw her. Her love, it made him proud of himself, that she could love him. That he was good enough for her, despite years of telling himself differently. She touched him. He made her moan his name. She was his, and he, hers. Then, he would hold his head up high, knowing that he had found his. That he was hers.

At some point he forgot to appreciate her. It. Them. Something that happens when you become too secure. An oxymoron, he thinks. Moron, he thinks.

He fixes things. He knows his place. His duty. And if he weren't gripping the steering wheel so damn tight he'd have to fight the urge to salute. That's why he came to her house this morning. He could fix them. They could fix this. He poured his heart out; he was seconds from hitting the ground and begging. He winces as he imagines himself wrapping himself tightly around her legs, kissing her thighs, hoping she doesn't notice the wet marks he's leaving in his wake. Hoping she does. It makes his stomach turn and he replays her words over and over in his mind.

He's stopped at a stoplight that he doesn't remember seeing.

"I slept with Christopher"

As the light turns green he hits the accelerator harder than necessary and momentarily shuts his eyes, when images of them together cloud his mind.

Driving. He opens his eyes quickly.

Her kissing his chest and jaw and opening her mouth for him. His hands running down her sides, chill bumps in his wake. He knows her routine. He knows how she works. He knows how she would use her body against him and he sees Christopher smiling and kissing her neck, and he wants to scream when he hears her gasp.

He feels like an idiot for ever thinking he was good enough for her.

And he can't understand why his mind won't turn off the images, as they flicker her gasping, and moaning, and an illicit name slipping from her mouth. He sees her fingers white, grasping his back and there's not a relaxed muscle in his body as he is reminded that he's no longer the one who makes her moan.

Minutes ago he stood there, baring all for this woman he loves. This woman he would do anything for. But anything wasn't enough. He wasn't enough. His heart on his sleeve and now he wants to stomp all over himself for being such an idiot. Of course this is the way it ends. This is what he had always been trying to avoid. She had assured him, he had her heart. That he always would. And for some reason, he can't comprehend right now, he believed her. It's too much for his pride to take, and he needs a release.

He throws his truck in park and is out of the car before the engine has completely shut off. He focuses on his hands and his purpose and anything to get the images of her out of his head. He whips open the elevator screen, and sees her chin rising above an unknown shoulder. The slow elevator makes his blood boil and he's not sure rather or not he cares that his heart is beating so fast now that it might explode.

As he walks down the corridor, he can hear her moaning and gasping and when the door opens, she shutters and his fist lands squarely on his jaw.

He shakes his hand in relief. This pain is much better. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

He turns towards her, watching as her hand runs through his hair. They lay in a comfortable silence, eyes on each other. Lorelai smiles.

He recognizes the mischief in her expression and asks carefully, "What?"

She brushes her hands through his hair, sweeping the lazy pieces from his eyes. "Can I cut your hair?"

"Excuse me?"

"Just a trim."

"You're kidding me right?"

"Nope."

He smiles at her, "I'll call and make an appointment with my guy."

"It just needs a little off the ends. I can do it." She places her hand over her heart sincerely, "I want to do it."

"You want to cut my hair?"

"I love your hair."

"My hair is thin and definitely not my best feature."

She runs her hands through his hair, as if to emphasize her sincerity, "I love your hair."

Luke sighs and turns his body towards her explaining, "I've had the same barber for twenty years. He knows what I like, he knows my head. I can make an appointment for next week. He keeps me from looking so damn old."

Lorelai eyes him, "I know your head. Are you telling me your barber knows your head better than I, your very sweet and attentive girlfriend? Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

He grins, "Sweet?"

"And attentive." She punctuates by sweeping her hand lightly along his face. "Plus, I used to cut Rory's hair all the time. I have satisfied customers that will give you references."

"Seriously?"

"Yes. I'm sure Rory would be more than happy to vouch for my skills."

"No. I mean you seriously want to cut my hair that badly?"

"Trim. Trim your hair."

"Just a little?"

"Just a little," she confirms.

"And you won't cut it too short?"

"Of course I won't."

"And not too much off the top?"

"Luke..."

"What?"

"I love your hair," she adds again meaningfully.

He regards her, and then finally gives into her pout, "After breakfast?"

Lorelai's eyes light up excited, "Well of course we have to eat. We'll need stamina!"

"I'm scared to know why you're so excited about this."

She kisses him on the cheek, jumping off the bed and pulling him up with her.

They sit in a comfortable silence; the sounds of silverware scraping the bottom of plates and John Hiatt playing softly from the living room, fill the void nicely. Lorelai smiles at Luke as he reads a paper, and then stuffs another fork full of pancakes into her mouth, refocusing her attention to her food.

His hand rests on her knee and he absently rubs circles there, only pausing to spoon more oatmeal from his bowl.

"My boobs are getting saggy."

It's not the broken silence that startles him, it's the content and the serious manner in which the line is delivered that catches his attention. Confused, he turns to her astounded, "What?"

She barely pauses as she pours a little more syrup on her pancakes, "My boobs are getting saggy."

He eyes her curiously, "If by 'boobs' you mean pancakes, and by 'saggy' you mean soggy, then yes, your boobs are getting very saggy."

She looks up from her pancakes and laughs gently, "That too I guess."

He smiles back at her and squeezes her knee assuredly, "Your breasts are not getting 'saggy'."

"Well they certainly aren't as perky as they used to be,"

"Hey, they're fine," he assures her dismissively.

She smiles at him, "Oh I know you think so mister."

He smirks, "I have no complaints. I think they are perfect," he adds for good measure.

She smiles good-naturedly, "Good answer."

He grins proudly, "I'm a highly trained specimen of a man."

She whacks his softly on the arm, "Yeah, yeah. Back to my boobs for a second..."

He sighs emphatically, "Lorelai, you know I never thought I'd want to stop talking about your-" he waves his hand in the general vicinity, she grins, "But this," he pauses, and then continues down a different path, defeated, "I love your boobs."

"And I'm glad you think so."

He frowns, confused, "But you don't?"

She laughs, "Oh no, I like them just fine. Love them even. I think they could definitely hold their own in a wet tee-shirt contest," Luke gives her a look and she adds properly and as if scripted, "That I would most certainly never participate in. Again," she adds guiltily.

He smiles and rolls his eyes. She grins wickedly and he squeezes her knee once more and then returns to his paper. After a second he looks up and watches her as she dips her bacon in the syrup on her plate.

She feels his eyes on her and looks up, "What?"

He smiles at her for a long second and finally, "Nothing." He leans in and kisses her gently. She smiles back at him and wipes syrup off of his lip. "Thanks," he says.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When it comes into her sight, her stomach tumbles forward. She takes a calming breath and reminds herself, coffee to go. In and out.

She walks in with confidence she had forgotten she had. With no Luke in sight, she continues to the counter, sitting beside none other than Kirk.

"Well hello Lorelai."

"Hi Kirk," she speaks quickly and keeps up her facade.

He leans in conspiratorially, "How are you doing today?"

He speaks in low voice and Lorelai doesn't know whether to be pleased or disturbed. "Good Kirk, thanks."

"He's in the back."

"Who?" Fruitless, she scolds herself.

"Luke."

"I'm just here for coffee Kirk."

"What about that whole, 'This customer lo-'"

"Thanks Kirk. I remember."

"Well you're acting like you don't," he leans in, and if she thought she was uncomfortable before, she decides to redefine the word when he places his hand on her thigh, "I'm here for you Lorelai. Love is hard. It picks you up and knocks you-"

She begins to think of things she'd like to knock, one being her counter-buddy. She's about to test the theory when Luke comes from behind the curtain, stopping Kirk in mid-sentence and her hand in midair. It falls back to her thigh because really, that's the last thing on her mind when he says, "Oh, hi."

She smiles warmly, "Hi. Just a coffee to-go please."

He's a little uncomfortable and she wishes it wasn't so awkward. She was certainly doing her part in ignoring the elephant.

He characteristically wipes his hands with his rag and, a nervous tick she remembers, readjusts his hat. "Sure." His voice sounds a little funny, and she knows she isn't alone in thinking that when he repeats it a little firmer, "Sure."

She smiles again, and his back is already towards her fixing her coffee.

She glares at Kirk, realizing she hadn't gotten the chance to chide him for his inconsiderate words earlier. Hadn't he realized she was moving on? Pretending it didn't happen?

She prays that her embarrassment is over for this trip, and watches as Luke finishes preparing her coffee. As he places the lid on, he lifts his eyes to her and gives her a reassuring smile. She smiles back briefly and would almost define it "a moment", until Kirk interrupts.

"I've been meaning to tell you Luke,"

The moment is officially over and Lorelai holds her breath praying that Kirk uses some common sense in his next few sentences.

Luke looks at Kirk warningly but he continues undeterred, "You really shouldn't put the lids on like that."

"Like what?" Luke asks incredulously.

"With your hand over the mouth piece. People have to put their mouths on those lids. I dabbled in hygienic arts," he explains authoritatively. "It's not sanitary."

Luke glares at him and Lorelai stifles a laugh, "My hands are clean Kirk."

"You know, most people believe their own hands are clean, when in fact, they aren't. No one wants to believe they are a disease carrier."

"I'm not a disease carrier Kirk."

"You may say that now, but have you ever looked at your hands under a microscope?"

Luke sighs, "Can't say that I have." He turns back to Lorelai, "I'll get you another lid."

"It's okay," she smirks.

"No, I will. Wouldn't want you to fret over the diseases on my hands."

"It's okay," she assures him again with a smile. "I trust your hands." And it wasn't supposed to be flirty, but it's so natural, it slides out without hesitation. She's relieved when he doesn't seem effected.

"Okay," he leans in slightly, "But your putting your life in your own hands."

"Actually," she returns with a smile, "I'm putting it in your hands." She puts her money on the counter and light-heartedly continues, "And I'm okay with that."

With the way that he looks at her, she knows he's touched. It's a brief moment, before he glances at Kirk and adds, "Well, you've been warned."

Without a word, she smiles and turns to go, coffee in hand. 


	3. The Breakthrough

It's one of those days that are destined to suck, she thinks. It's cold. Her head aches as soon as it leaves her pillow, and she can't seem to find the fluffy socks that keep her feet warm on mornings like this.

She spills coffee on the floor when she scoops it into her maker. When she bends down to clean it, she hits her knee on the cabinet, knocking more onto the floor. Paul Anka tries to lick it up, in which she shoos him away, only succeeding in scaring him into a chair, which, of course, falls over with a crash.

He runs away and hides, and she's sure she won't see much more of him today. When she tries calling Rory to say good morning, it goes straight to voicemail and her mailbox is full.

Her head is pounding, and she's not sure exactly why. The coffee only seems to temporarily ease her pain, and when she walks with the hot cup to the den, she feels faint. She wonders if she has one of those carbon monoxide leaks in her house and worse, if she did in fact pass out, how long it would take someone to discover her body.

She blames the weather for her pessimism. It's an overcast day and her house seems darker than usual. She misses the sun.

It's days like this that are the worse. Where she feels no guilt for waxing poetic of what might have been. She walks outside, hoping to escape the invisible fumes that she's sure have invaded her house. She sits on her stairs and slowly rubs her hand around the rim of her cup, coaxing it into coolness.

The coffee and the potential deadly fumes. The missing socks and Paul Anka being completely terrified of her. It's all of this that makes her miss him. She knows that the woulda/coulda/shoulda combo is dangerous. She knows that it's unhealthy and nonproductive. Usually, she avoids it. Today, she's feeling too low to have such self-control. Luke's her coffee provider, as he promised he'd be. She thinks it's over. Completely. And she hates that she can't seem to let the hope go. And so, she lets her mind drift.

If things had been different, he would have come after her. He would have grabbed her arm, a little too fiercely in his desperation. He would have made her look at him, seen the tears in her eyes, and held her tightly against him.

If things had been different he would have run his hands through her hair until she could breathe again and he would have promised her he'd fix things.

If things had been different, she would have hit her hands on his chest as he tried to soothe her with his words. She would have fought against his firm embrace until she was too weak to do so any longer. He would have led her home, and helped her inside. He would have sit beside her on the couch and told her how important she was to him. He would have fought for them.

There would have been screaming and yelling and fierce words, but neither of them would have moved until they both couldn't blame any more. Until their words were exhausted and the sun had begun to gently stream in through the windows. With one look, he would have taken her to bed.

Instead, they were both left with too much unsaid. For months they had been sitting on accusations and apologies, until they were buried inside so deep, they were both sure they would never be needed. A flood of relief and sorrow clouded her mind when she thought of the words that would never be spoken. It was too late for them, and it was too late for the words that would release them from their tireless purgatory.

In her unproductive ramblings, her eyes have drifted towards a neighbor's house. Lorelai watches in fascination as three children play basketball. Through the trees she can hear the laughter and the small sibling arguments that ensue. The cheers and shrieks of laughter clear in her mind. The picture made vivid by the sounds; a frame clear in her mind. Every so often, she catches a glimpse of a red shirt or yellow hat, only slices, the rest to be filled in by her imagination. She watches intently, waiting for another peek.

They could grow up to be anything, she thinks. They could be basketball players or rocket scientists. They still get the chance to decide. They still get to experience the moment when they realize their dream and potential. They still get to experience love and laughter and kisses.

They are going to get their hearts broken. They are going to cry and scream and fight, because they are so convicted in their belief that nothing is more important than being right. Being justified. Pride. They are so sure that love can come again. They are hopeful and optimistic. They know that even though it hurts like hell, love _will_ come again.

She tries to smile for them. She tries to ignore the tears that seem to be gathering in her eyes. She tries to be happy for them and push away the childish jealousy that clouds her thoughts. She wants to, and tries to, but she can't seem to rid herself of the unwelcome and disturbing realization that her time for all these joys, has passed. She has her life that she made herself, and doesn't regret much, but can't seem to reconcile her successes and her failures.

She can't fight the feeling of emptiness and loneliness that envelops her. She thought that when Rory went to college, that the feelings then, those would be the worst. That's when she would feel the most alone. That's when she would feel the pricks in her heart that threatened to suffocate her.

It is much worse now, she thinks. Not being needed. Feeling completely alone and useless. She spits out the unwelcome word. Useless. It is much too strong of a word for her to use so freely in her imagination, and she can't help but hate that it ever crossed her mind in the first place.

Instead of trying to find all the reasons why this word shouldn't, and couldn't, ever apply to her, she stands abruptly, hitting her elbow hard on the railing, a wayward nail tearing through her skin as she yelps out in pain.

She thinks the children have heard her, but relief washes over her as they begin to play once again. She stumbles inside, surprised at her blurry vision. The pain had not seemed enough to draw tears, but they are running down her face regardless. She wishes that she was a child and could open the door to her mother's welcoming arms, waiting with a band-aid and medicine that would sting but ensure that the scratch didn't get infected.

Instead, she's surprised to see Paul Anka, seemingly forgiving her and trying his best to come to her aid. While she is comforted by his presence, he holds no band-aids or medicine. He offers her his bone instead.

She starts to walk past him into the kitchen and abruptly stops, unsure if she even owns a hammer, much less where one might keep such a thing. She is sure, however, that she needs to turn a new leaf. No more wayward nails. She refuses to feel sorry for herself any longer.

She grabs the bone from his mouth and storms to the nail that threatened her sanity. She doesn't even let the word "Bert" cross her mind as she pulls back, squinting an eye to focus, and swings for the nail. It hits dead on, and she almost laughs at herself, unbelieving. She swings again, almost proud, and a little too confident, and the nail starts to slowly slide back into place.

Just when she thinks she's got things figured out, she leans her left hand against the railing for leverage. She pulls back for a final swing, focused and proud, putting all of her weight behind it. The wood creaks and cracks, but she's so determined, it doesn't faze her in the slightest. As she swings and hits it once more, _BAM_.

As if the fates had planned it all along, the whole scene crumbles. The railing crashes down, Lorelai falling right behind it. She hears a snap in her arm as she hits the ground and she groans.

"Fuck," she says. _Damn, shit, hell,_ she thinks.

Wincing, she rolls on her back, pulling her injured arm to her chest. She cradles it, and then, she laughs.

She laughs as she thinks of how she must look right now. Flat on her back, lying on broken wood and still grasping the dog bone. She laughs as she is reminded why she's never tried to fix these types of things before. She laughs because in her quest to free her mind of Luke, she's literally fallen flat on her face, and she's no doctor, but is pretty sure she's broken her arm in the process.

She winces again as she sits up slowly. Paul Anka stands on the porch looking down at her. She knows he's oblivious, but his tail is wagging so happily, she wonders if he considers this his payback from earlier.

She stands up, still unsure if she should laugh or cry, and settles on a mixture of the two. She walks up the stairs and opens the door. She grabs the phone, setting it on its back on the table. Each number she dials proves to be tricky. Shots of pain being delivered directly to her arm at every movement.

Babbette and Morey had come by yesterday to tell her that they'd be away for the weekend. Sookie's line is busy, and Patty isn't answering either. Rory's voicemail comes on immediately once again. She doesn't even wait for the message informing her that her daughter is so busy and important that she's not even receiving messages, including those from her mother.

Exhausting all of the people who could and would take her to the hospital, a final name comes into her head.

He answers on the second ring, and sounds annoyed when she doesn't respond right away.

"Sorry to bother you Luke-"

"Lorelai?"

"Yep. Hi."

"Hi, how's it going?" He seems a little less frustrated, and she's at least thankful for that. She can hear him moving plates around. He shifts the phone from his ear, "Eggs and bacon, wheat toast!"

"Look I know your busy-"

"Yeah, sorry. Breakfast rush. Can I call you back in thirty minutes?"

She debates on whether or not she can drive herself. Her decision is made when she shifts the phone, somehow furthering her pain. She winces, "Well, I was hoping you could help me out."

She can hear him sigh and she rushes to explain, "I think I broke my arm."

"Your arm? Are you okay?"

"Well that's debatable. I think I need to go to the hospital." She rushes unnecessarily on, "I would drive myself but I'm having problems just making phone calls, and Rory and Sookie aren't answering their phones-"

"I'll be right there."

And he hangs up and she sighs. She sets the phone down, gingerly grabbing a Kleenex trying to wipe the tears and dirt from her face.

She's made it to the porch when he pulls up just a few minutes later.

He's out of the truck and darting towards her before the dust has settled.

"Are you okay?"

It seems the trip was enough time for panic to sink in.

She wants to cry again at the sympathetic look he gives her.

Instead she says in a confident voice, "Oh yeah sure. I was heading out to the batting cages, wanna come?"

His arms are on his hips, unfazed by her snark, and she watches as he takes in the scene before him.

"What the hell were you trying to do?"

She opens her mouth to speak and then he notices the blood on her arm.

"You're bleeding!"

"It's not from the break."

"Well I would hope not. Did you fall off your porch?"

"Well sort-of, see-" she tries to explain how one as dainty and together as herself finds themselves on the ground with a broken arm.

"Do you have a tetanus shot?"

"Luke-"

"There're nails in that wood." He kicks it around a bit before continuing, "I knew that thing was unsteady. I don't know why I never-"

"Luke!" she says louder to get his attention.

It works.

"Can we talk semantics later? This kinda hurts and I could totally go for some painkillers about right now."

"Sure, yeah." He's kind of pacing around strangely, and won't stop looking at the broken wood on the ground guiltily. "I just can't-"

"Hey Luke?"

He finally stops his pacing at looks at her.

"Can you take me to the hospital?"

"Of course. Right. Hospital. Sorry."

"Thanks."

When she goes to stand up, he's beside her, hand on her back, helping her. She almost feels guilty for just wanting to hug him. Just hug him and thank him for always being there for her. She doesn't.

He leads her to his truck and opens the door for her. He helps her up into the truck and reaches for her seatbelt.

With a coy smile she says, "I still have one that works, you know."

"Right," he smiles back at her.

She successfully buckles herself in and he gently closes her door, walking to his side.

They are well out of Star's Hollow when he finally breaks the silence, "So what happened?"

"You wouldn't believe it if I told you."

He smirks, "Try me."

She takes a deep breath and resists the urge to tell him about her horrible morning and how she just couldn't seem to stop missing him.

"I cut myself on a nail on the porch."

"And fell off?"

"No, thank you very much. I was trying to hammer it back it."

He holds in a laugh, "You used a hammer?"

"For your information, I can use a hammer."

He smiles, "Oh I'm sure you can. I've just never seen it."

She smirks.

He continues, "I didn't even know you had a hammer."

She grins surreptitiously, "I'm sure I do... somewhere."

"Huh?"

"I was using Paul Anka's bone," she admits embarrassed.

He laughs, "Seriously?"

"Seriously. And don't laugh! It was working! Well, until the railing broke, but until then..." she smiles.

"Until then you were doing great?" he repeats smiling.

"Yeah," she insists, returning his smile.

She enjoys the quiet moment between them, temporarily forgetting about the pain in her arm.

Still smiling he continues, "We really need to get you a toolkit for your house."

She's sure he doesn't realize why that may have made her lose her smile and look away. "Yeah," she replies, trying to sound cheerful, but she's stung. She tries not to let it show and smiles back at him, "I'll have to do that."

He seems to realize though, and continues, "But hey, you can always call me. You should have called me today anyway." He tries to lighten the mood, "I have an actual hammer and everything."

She smiles at his effort. After a moment, she breaks the silence, "Hey thanks for doing this Luke. Really, thanks. I don't know what I'd do without you. You've saved me more times than I'd like to admit," she laughs good-naturedly.

"Don't give me too much credit. I should have fixed the damn thing in the first place."

She chooses not to respond, and figures they both know why he hadn't. No need to bring up unpleasant memories.

"We're almost there. Your arm doing okay?"

"Yeah she's good. Not looking forward to months of darkness inside a cast, but she's very excited about the painkillers that I keep assuring her are coming."

"Good," he nods at her reassuringly. His eyes are on the road but she watches as they glance in her direction every now and then. Just when she thinks she can't stand it any longer, he speaks, "You can call me you know."

"Huh?"

"Call me. You can call me if you need help with something or break an arm or whatever," he frowns, "I don't like that you don't think you can call me."

"I just," she pauses and tries to figure out how to word her hesitations correctly. She sighs and goes with honesty, "I just don't know where we stand Luke. I mean I said my piece and we've had a good customer/coffee provider thing going on, and that's great. But where are you? I mean, are we friends? Are we even anything? Where _are_ you?" She exhausts her breath and looks at him unsure, afraid she's asking too much.

He sighs and looks at her with a steady gaze, "I don't know."

There are worse things he could have said and she accepts his answer, nodding solemnly and looking back onto the road. He holds his gaze a little longer and then does the same.

Her hand is resting on her knee, and as it's slightly numb, she doesn't feel it at first. But a quick glance down confirms it. His hand is ever so gently holding onto hers and his thumb is rubbing it reassuringly.

She sniffles and swallows the tears that threaten.

"We're almost there. Don't worry."

And she thinks that maybe she does have time.

_ TBC _


End file.
